LUCY
I was halfway through my second cup of coffee when my phone rang. I glanced at the screen and sighed. Mr. Clarke, my boss. Why was he calling me on my leave?
I picked the call. "Sir, please don't tell me you forgot I'm on leave."
His voice came rushing in, all stressed and shaky. "Lucy, I didn't forget. Trust me, I wouldn't be calling if it wasn't serious."
I closed my eyes and leaned against the kitchen counter, taking another slow sip like it meant the world to me. "I told you I needed a break. The last case nearly burned me out. Can't someone else handle it?"
"Not this one," he said quickly. "Lucy, it's just a one-day hearing. One. That's all I'm asking. You're the best we've got."
I hated when he used that. The "you're the best" speech. It worked too many times.
"One day?" I repeated, already feeling tired.
"One day. Just today. After this, I'll personally make sure you get the whole month off, no calls, nothing. I promise."
I sipped my coffee again, weighing his words. "Alright," I finally said. "Who's the client?"
He went silent for a beat.
"Mr. Clarke?" I pressed.
He cleared his throat. "Lorenzo Carcaterra."
The name hit me like cold water. "You've got to be kidding me."
"I wish I was."
I let out a dry laugh and shook my head. "A mafia drug lord. You want me to defend a mafia drug lord?"
"It's not like that–"
"It is like that," I cut in sharply. "That man is one of the biggest criminals in this state. You know that. I know that. Everyone knows that."
Mr. Clarke lowered his voice, almost like he was afraid someone would hear him through the phone. "Lucy, listen to me. The pay is huge, bigger than anything you've ever handled. I'm talking about real money. And the firm needs this."
I frowned. "You're checking the pay, Mr. Clarke, I'm checking the danger," I shot back. "What's money compared to my life? You know what happens to people who get mixed up with men like that. I don't care how high the pay is."
"It's not just about money," he whispered. "It's about reputation. The man's case could put us on a whole new level."
I dropped my coffee on the table. It was so saddening how frustrating he was making things look. "Sir, do you hear yourself right now? Reputation? Do you even know what this man is capable of?"
He stayed silent.
I kept going. "Do you know why he needs the 'best lawyer in the state'? Because he's guilty. If he was innocent, any junior lawyer could've handled it. But he's dirty, and you want me to clean him up in court."
"I didn't have a choice, Lucy."
"There's always a choice."
He sighed. "You're making this difficult."
"Good. I hope I am," I said firmly. "I'm not risking my career, or my name, for a man who probably stole, killed, or threatened his way to where he is."
Silence stretched between us for a moment.
"Lucy…" he sighed. "It's just one case–"
"No. It's never just one case with men like him. Today, I win a case. Tomorrow, I'm helping hide bodies. No thanks."
He tried another route. "Think of your record. Imagine what this will do for your reputation."
"I already have a reputation, one I'm proud of. And it's not built on defending criminals."
"I'm sorry," I said quietly, but with finality. "But I'm not interested. Find someone else who doesn't care about sleeping at night."
Before he could say another word, I cut the call.
I sighed and rubbed my forehead. This wasn't why I studied law. I didn't sit through those long nights in school just to defend people who deserve to be judged by the law. I wanted to fight for those who didn't have a voice, the ones who needed someone to speak for them. And honestly? I'd been doing that job well.
So why now? Why this?
My phone rang again. I didn't even need to check who it was. Mr. Clarke. Again.
With a sharp breath, I answered. "I've said what I said."
"Lucy, please, just hear me out."
"There's nothing to hear, sir. I'm not defending criminals."
"Just this once," he begged. "Only this one case. I promise you, after this, you won't hear from me again. You can take a whole year off if you want. But I need you for this one."
I bit my lower lip. "Give me time," I finally said. "I need to think."
"Alright. I'll be waiting. Just… please, think about it."
He hung up, and I just stood there in my kitchen, staring at nothing. My coffee had gone cold by now.
I sat down and rested my head in my palms.
Maybe, just maybe, this wasn't what I thought it was. Maybe this Lorenzo Carcaterra wanted defense for something else. Maybe he was on the right side this time. People can surprise you, right? Maybe he's fighting for his property, his company – or something legal.
But what if I was wrong?
I closed my eyes. "Just this once," I whispered to myself.
I carried that thought with me the whole day. Thinking. Overthinking. Then, thinking again. I didn't like this feeling, but one thing was clear, if I didn't take the case, I would regret it. Not because of the money, but because of 'what if'.
Later that night, after rolling around my bed like five times, I finally grabbed my phone and called Mr. Clarke.
"Sir, I'll do it."
The relief in his voice was loud. "Thank you, Lucy. Thank you so much. You won't regret this."
"I better not."
"I'll send you a picture of your client now."
Seconds later, my phone buzzed with a message. I tapped on it, and there it was – a clean, clear picture of him.
I wasn't a fan of describing people, but all I could say was, this man wasn't the type of Mafia lord you'd want to mess with. I had to wonder why someone would have to mess with him in the first place.
But as I stared at the photo closer, there seemed to be a little fam
iliarity in those eyes. I've seen that face before.
But where?
And the more I stared, the clearer the feeling got.